I’d like to tell you the story of a cat. A cat named Nelson.
We call him ‘Smelson’ for short, and ‘Smelly’ for fun.
Smelly’s a nine-month old pure black cat with a strong face and a slight tint of blue to his eyes. While most cat owners out their will tell you their cat is the best in the world, Smelly was a fantastic cat. You didn’t have to chase him off the counters, he didn’t pull at the couch,carpets, or curtains and the only time you saw him was after everybody else went to bed. He’d show up, as if he waited his turn, and climb onto the couch for a snooze and a scratch.
Wednesday night was like most other nights, I sit on the couch playing Call of Duty and chatting online while Smelly lay on the cushion next to mine having a snooze. He’d open his eyes just a hair to make sure it was still me giving him the scratch on the back, or rub of the head, between each match or while wating to respawn.
Something different happened that night however. As Smelly rolled from his right side to his left, he let out a little yelp. I gave him a quick check and he seemed fine. We wrapped up our game and called it a night.
The next morning, something was wrong. We got him comfortable and left for work. By 6pm we had to take him to the vet. Dr. White checked him out. He had a fever and running through the center of his spine. They sent him home with some anti-inflamatories and pain killers.
The drugs seemed to work, after every dose he seemed to pick up a bit, but the results waned as the hands on the clock turned.
By saturday, he was not getting better and we made the decision to take him back.
The vet checked him out again and decided to keep him overnight for observation.
That made for a quiet night. sitting, wondering, silently worrying.
Sunday, just before supper, we picked him up. The doctor said they were trying a different anti-inflamatory and he seemed to be responding well.
As we came into the house, setting his little box down on the floor, he tried to scurry away. Clearly he was having major problems walking. It seemed as if his back legs had come unhinged. They wobbled around as his hind quarters stayed close to the floor almost draggin across the room.
I picked him up and moved him into our computer room, keeping him isolated from our other cat like the doctor ordered. With food, water, and a litter pan we left him to rest with a little radio to break the boredom.
About 2hours later, I peeked in, no change. He squinted as I turned on the light, but didn’t move. I gave him a little scratch and drop a couple pieces of food into his bed. He munched them up, and I left him to rest.
A quick peek before bed went exactly the same.
I woke up Monday morning to find him lying flat on his belly, wide awake, in the litter box with is back legs hanging outside the lip of the tray.
I scooped him up and put him back to bed.
Checking back before I left for work, I found him again lying flat on his belly, wide awake, in the litter box with is back legs hanging outside the lip of the tray.
I scooped him up and put him back to bed.
After work I checked him again…….no change.
We ate supper, and walked the dog.
Thinking it was almost cruel to leave the little creature upstairs by himself, I brought him down to snuggle on the couch over some bad TV.
While he lay in my arms, between moments of nodding off and just laying there, I ran a few at home tests. I tried to tickle his toes to see if he would move his feet or pull them away. Nothing. I tickled his tail to see if he would give it a waggle. Nothing. I repeated this test more often than I think, hoping that just once he’d pull his feet away, hoping that my picking at his tail would piss him off enough to give me that trade mark warning waggle.
Nothing.
Oh Lord. Nothing.
Please, just once let there be something. But there never was.
I was so afraid that Jaci would ask how bad this was. I hadn’t decided wether to lie to her or not. I certainly didn’t want to lie her, but I didn’t want to hurt her with with what more and more seemed to be the inevitable truth.
We hand fed him some more cat food, and bribed him to have a drink or milk, diluted with water. He drank an impressive amount.
I set him on the floor in the middle of the living room, determined to see him get up of his own power and walk even a few steps.
It didn’t happen.
I picked him up and held him in my arms, his lifeless legs hanging with a contortion that implied not even a little muscle control. He cried. At this point he cried every time he moved.
For fourteen hours I held him.
I slept on the floor of the computer room. First holding his little bed close to my pillow, later holding him close to my chest as I lay on my side. I’m not sure either of us really slept. I slipped in and out of the lightest of sleep, waking myself every few seconds afraid I would roll on him, hurting him even more. Waking twice to find him back in the litter box. I pulled him back to me and rubbed his back and side. I didn’t want him to suffer alone.
When we got up in the morning, I head outside to shovel the snow left at the end of the driveway by the plow overnight. After only a couple scoops Jaci was at the door. Smelly needed help.
He clambored his way out of his bed and drug his lifeless legs across the floor. By the time I got there, he was trying to figure out how we was going to get down the stairs. I carried him down and set him on the floor where he stayed until I packed him into a box and headed out to the vet again.
More tests.
He was in more pain than ever before.
X-rays showed nothing. No fractures of the spine, inflammation, or slipped discs.
More tests.
He was losing more physical control. We had to help him pee. We had to apply pressure to his bladder to force urine out of his body. The little towel under him was staining yellow. His other body functions were happening without his control. He pooped on himself.
They decided to keep him and run more tests.
They left me alone with him. I held him like a baby. His legs dangled as he curled into my arms and sweater. He kept trying to look at me while trying to stay awake. He was so filthy. His fur matted with urine and litter. He looked so peaceful, so happy to have me hold him. I tried to clean him. There was the smallest piece of white cate litter dried to his nose. I couldn’t get it off.
I held him close to my face and apoplogized for some reason. My heart was breaking.
The vet came back into the room and gathered him up. He still had the white stone dried to his nose. I asked her to wait but we still couldn’t pick it off.
I left.
They called.
For some reason I was genuinely surprised when Dr. White told me there was something seriously wrong.
Leukemia.
Dr. White and I talked for a long time. Leukemia could be the cause of the neurological problems. Best case scenario, the leukemia test was wrong. We could retest, but then there’d still be the neurological problems for which we seemed to have no solution.
If the retest came back positive we couldn’t bring him home.
I drove home trying to both see though and deny the tears in my eyes. The radio was off and car was quiet and calm. I could still smell him on my sweater. I could still smell the cleaner they use at the office to clean the equipment. I can still see him fighting to stay awake in my arms and I can’t help but think that for some reason………………………………..I feel so guilty…………. I can’t help but think that for some reason………………….
…………..I made the wrong choice. There had to be one more thing we could have tried.
Smelly died today.
Smelly died, soaked in his own feces, with lifeless legs and a little piece of dried litter stuck to his face.
I feel so guilty.
